


Deleted Scenes

by clarkoholic, skywardsmiles



Series: Blue Moon [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brownies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drugs, M/M, Mpreg, hippie!werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-03
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 21:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkoholic/pseuds/clarkoholic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/skywardsmiles/pseuds/skywardsmiles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of deleted scenes from <i>(Once in a) Blue Moon</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deleted Scenes

**Author's Note:**

> We love [(Once in a) Blue Moon](http://archiveofourown.org/works/772834/chapters/1451046) (like, a ridiculous amount) so we've decided to occasionally share various deleted scenes.
> 
> We want to write a million things set in this verse so if you have any prompts, feel free to use our tumblr ask boxes: [clarkoholic](http://clarkoholic.tumblr.com/ask) & [boomboxgeneration](http://boomboxgeneration.tumblr.com/ask)

The front yard is empty for once—it’s late enough that most everyone is asleep, and the few that aren’t are busy passing around bottles of wine and laughing in the living room. Stiles has been sleeping for a few hours already but Derek’s still feeling too jittery to attempt sleep and he doesn’t want to risk waking him. He’s only just begun to feel well enough that he can actually sleep for more than a few hours at a time without waking in pain.

He contemplates going for a run, to burn off the pent-up energy he’s feeling. These months away from his pack are making him tense and anxious—his wolf coiling tighter, feeling defensive even though there aren’t any dangers coming outright at him. He takes a seat on the porch swing instead, thankful for a few moments of silence.

The peace doesn’t last long, though, because Rufus steps out onto the porch, and Derek fights back a groan.

“Derek!” Rufus says, beaming at him. Derek instantly crosses his arms, ready to fight off a hug, but then he notices that Rufus has a plate of something that smells _delicious_.

Which is weird, because Derek doesn’t think any of their food smells good.

“What is that?” he asks, cautious. “And does it have tofu in it?”

Rufus holds up the plate—and _oh god_ , they’re brownies. Actual brownies. He sniffs again, and yeah, they’re even _real_ chocolate. Derek didn’t think they believed in chocolate, much like their opinions on bacon and central cooling systems.

“Sustenance,” Rufus says, picking one off the plate and taking a large bite.

Rufus sits down beside him, and Derek doesn’t even flinch this time, though he does scoot a little closer to his side of the swing.

Derek stares at the plate covering Rufus’ bare lap, but finally drags his gaze upward, to look at Rufus. “Can I...”

Rufus holds the plate toward him. “I would be honored to share werebrownies with you.”

“Werebrownies?” Derek quirks a brow, hand paused mid-air.

“Fit for werewolves.”

Derek watches Rufus just smiling at him and takes another whiff; they don’t smell like anything but delicious, precious chocolate. He chalks it up to another Rufusism and picks one of the largest—because _chocolate_ —from the top of the pile. He lets out an abandoned groan when he bites into the gooey piece of heaven, his eyes closing as it’s perfection hits his tastebuds. It’s rich in flavor and still warm, with just the right amount of crumble and a hint of something else. Nutmeg, maybe?

He finishes the piece in two bites and doesn’t shy from taking a second brownie when Rufus holds out the plate again, grinning like Derek accepting his brownies means they’re now best friends forever. Derek would be a little concerned but if Rufus wants to buy his friendship with melt-in-your-mouth brownies and it means he doesn’t have to eat another carob cake, he’s okay with that.

“This is the greatest thing I’ve ever eaten,” Derek says, sucking some of the chocolate off his fingers. “Why haven’t you made these before?”

“I only make them on special occasions,” Rufus explains, nodding sagely.

Derek glances back toward the house. “Is it someone’s birthday?” He’s been here for a lot of birthdays—including Eucalyptus’—and he definitely doesn’t remember any of the party food involving chocolate. He’d have remembered that.

Rufus shakes his head. “No. It’s Tuesday.”

He pauses to consider that, then just shrugs, and grabs another one. He takes a few small bites, wanting to savor it, but before he knows what happens, he’s already scarfed the whole thing. They’re so good, reminiscent of the homemade brownies he used to make with his mom, and it’s like he can feel them spreading warmth from his stomach through his whole body. Like a hug. The brownies are hugging him. They’re hug brownies.

He laughs, a little giggle bubbling up out of nowhere. “Hug brownies,” he mumbles, smiling at the crumbs left stuck to his fingers.

Rufus sets the plate between them on the swing and leans over to pat Derek on the back. “Yes,” he says, nodding, serious. “Yes. _Hugs_.” Then he turns on the bench to face Derek, leaning forward to wrap his arms awkwardly around him. Derek tenses instinctively but soon relaxes, as it’s strangely comforting when Rufus leans his head against his shoulder, humming into the material of his shirt. Derek reaches to pat at Rufus’ bare back, because he figures it’s the least he can do, when Rufus brought him _chocolate_.

\---

Stiles startles awake to the sound of someone laughing outside, loud and _annoying_. He sighs, pulling the blanket up over his head and trying to ignore the noise. He’s gotten better at it the longer they’ve been here—living in a house with so many werewolves means that there’s constant noise and motion and disturbance everywhere, and now that Stiles’ body and the baby growing inside him is finally willing to let him, he hates losing sleep to things as simple as a _loud noise_.

He’s still half asleep and he slides instinctively closer to where Derek’s is in the bed, only to find cooled sheets and an empty space. Stiles lowers the blanket again, squinting out at the chair, just in case, even though Derek hasn’t slept there in a few weeks—but that’s empty too.

Huh.

Stiles shrugs it off, closing his eyes to try to fall asleep again, when the same braying laugh that woke him rings out again. It takes a few more seconds of lying there before Stiles opens his eyes again, struggling to sit up in bed. He _knows_ that laugh. He’s never heard him laugh quite so loud but it’s definitely Derek.

He gets up to go investigate—because he has to know what’s elicited that level of laughter from Derek. And maybe he’s only a little mad that _he’s_ not the source.

He pauses at the bottom of the staircase, unsure of where exactly Derek is and because he needs to catch his breath. Sherice walks out from the kitchen, a cup of what smells like her famous herbal tea in hand.

“Good morning, Stiles,” Sherice says, a fond grin playing at her lips.

“Morning,” he nods back, pausing to scratch at the back of his neck, still scanning the room. “Uh, do you know where Derek is?”

Her grin broadens, like he’s said something funny. “He’s on the front porch with Rufus.”

“Okay thanks—wait, what?”

“They’ve been out there talking all night,” she says, her eyes twinkling like she can’t quite believe it herself.

“I...” he sputters, at a complete loss. Derek doesn’t stay up all night talking to _anyone_ , let alone Rufus. He’s seen Derek hide in the hall closet just to avoid Rufus. “I’m sorry, did you say Derek _Hale_ has been ‘talking’ to Rufus _Bear_ all night? Is there some other Derek here I haven’t met yet?”

Sherice’s shoulders shake with her barely concealed laughter. “Go see for yourself,” she says, motioning towards the porch. “I think they’re bonding.”

“Derek doesn’t _bond_ ,” Stiles says, glancing between the porch and her, trying to decide if he’s possibly still asleep, or if this is maybe some elaborate prank. There’s another laugh from the porch, and Stiles casts one last uncertain look at Sherice before he follows the sound outside.

He stops in the doorway, staring at where Derek and Rufus are sitting together on the porch floor in front of the swing, like maybe they fell off at one point and just didn’t bother to climb back up. Eucalyptus is laying at their feet, chewing happily on the shoelaces to Derek’s shoes. “And you know what I really hate?” Derek asks Rufus, sounding completely serious.

Rufus turns his head upward toward the sky. “Lamps?” Rufus suggests, and Derek lets out a surprised, high pitched giggle.

“No,” he says, once he’s gotten himself back under control. “Perfume. My sister used to wear it and it was too much. It made me sneeze!”

“We only wear the scents of nature here,” Rufus says, and Derek leans closer to sniff at Rufus, inhaling deeply.

“That’s smart,” he says, nodding as he considers. “You smell _good_. Like... pinecones. And goat.”

Stiles clears his throat, and they both twist around to face him, an instant grin breaking out over Derek’s features. “What the hell is going on?” Stiles asks, starting to wonder if maybe there’s been a spell cast upon them because this is _weird_.

“Stiles,” Derek crows. He gets up, and actually trips when his shoelace tugs against Eucalyptus’ teeth. Eucalyptus bleats at him but releases her hold on the shoelace and he stumbles, barely catching himself on the porch bannister. He and Rufus laugh hysterically for a full minute while Stiles stares on in horror.

Eventually Derek straightens, wiping at his eyes, and he looks over at Stiles like he’s just remembered what he was doing in the first place, and pulls Stiles into a full body hug. “Did you sleep good? You look less tired,” Derek says into his ear, though if he thinks he’s whispering, he’s missed the mark.

Stiles pulls back and puts his hands on Derek’s cheeks to get a good look at him. His eyes are wild and bright red. “Are... Derek, are you high?”

Derek laughs again, his whole body shaking when it turns into a giggle that won’t stop. “Nooo. Rufus gave me chocolate.”

“Chocolate.” Stiles looks over to Rufus, who’s licking a large white plate clean but he can see small flecks of brown crumbs all over the porch floor. “What kind of chocolate?” he asks, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“ _Brownies_ ,” Derek says, low and serious, like they’re a sacred thing.

“Brownies,” Stiles repeats. Oh, fucking hell. “Derek, you’re an idiot.”

Derek frowns and it’s over exaggerated, even for him; his brows draw into the perfect vee and his mouth a sad crescent. “Why are you so mean?”

“What?” Stiles blinks at him. “I didn’t... I just...” He frowns suddenly, shaking his head. “Wait, wait, no, the point is that you’re _high_.”

“I think I’d know if I was high,” Derek says, and his pout extends even more, if possible.

“Derek,” Stiles speaks slowly, for Derek’s benefit, “what do you think were in the brownies?”

“Chocolate.” Derek’s wounded expression shifts to one of total infatuation at just the word, and he sighs, wistful. “They have chocolate, Stiles. We have to find out where they’ve been hiding it.”

Stiles nods slowly. “Okay. Anything else? Anything else you can possibly think might have been in those brownies? Anything that Rufus Bear might add?”

Derek’s brows knit together, his face scrunching up as he considers the question. Eucalyptus bleats from where she’s still laying spread out across the porch, now nuzzling against Rufus’ ankles. When Derek’s expression clears, he smiles at Stiles, hopeful. “Nutmeg?”

“Definitely not nutmeg,” Stiles tells him, settling his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “Pot, Derek. They were pot brownies. I’m guessing it’s wolfsbane-laced pot, but... yeah.”

Derek gasps, pulling away and looking scandalized. “But they were _chocolate_. I love chocolate,” he says, small, shaking his head like the chocolate has personally betrayed him.

Stiles moves to pick up a larger chunk of brownie from the swing and brings it up to smell but Derek swats it from his hand before can get a good whiff. “Hey!” Stiles complains, “I wasn’t going to eat it.”

“You can’t do drugs, Stiles,” Derek admonishes. “Think of the baby.”

Stiles gapes at him. “What is happening to my life?” he says to himself, scrubbing a hand over his eyes to block out the sight of Derek high has a motherfucking kite.

A snicker from behind him draws his attention back to the house and Aurora is standing on the other side of the screen door, a hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. Stiles turns back to pat Derek’s arm, “Just... stay here for a second. Don’t. Move.”

Derek nods and Stiles slips back inside. “What the fuck?” he asks Aurora, swinging his hand toward the porch and it’s insane occupants.

She’s still shaking with laughter. “I’m sure Rufus is so happy to have someone to share his werebrownies with.”

“Werebrownies? And Derek didn’t think that was, I don’t know, suspicious?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “Is it wolfsbane? Is that how they work?”

“Yes,” she nods.

“Is that... safe?”

Her eyes turn fond, like she’s glad to see his concern. “You don’t need to worry. The recipe is old and was perfected a very long time ago. Rufus grows his own rare wolfsbane/cannabis hybrid in the garden that’s non-toxic. It just allows them to...”

“Get really fucking high?” Stiles asks, eyebrows inching up his forehead.

She smiles, “Exactly.”

Stiles blows out a breath, looking outside at the porch again. Derek has apparently already forgotten the order to stay still, as he’s sitting by Rufus again, struggling to get his left shoe off. It appears that he’s already given the right one to Eucalyptus.

“I’ll get mine, you get yours?” Aurora suggests, laughing quietly again.

“He’s not—” Stiles starts, then shakes his head. “Alright, yeah,” he finishes, and gives her a grateful look before heading back onto the porch.

He reaches for Derek’s arm to still him from tugging his remaining shoe completely off. “It’s someone’s bedtime.”

“The sun is coming up,” Rufus says, turning his face toward the sky. “Soon. I can feel it.”

“He can feel it, Stiles,” Derek says, a little in awe. “Can you feel it?”

“No, but I can look at a clock. It’s bedtime, man. I think you’ve had enough adventure for one night.” Stiles pulls on Derek’s arm. He’s heavy, and not much use in this state, but eventually he seems to get the idea that he has to do _some_ of the work to actually stand up again.

“Goodnight, Rufus,” Derek says, waving enthusiastically at him. Rufus spreads his arms for a hug, but Stiles drags Derek away before he’s forced to witness that.

It takes a considerable amount of effort to get Derek up to their room, especially when he keeps laughing about how he doesn’t understand stairs, but eventually Stiles is pushing him toward the bed.

Stiles sits in the chair and watches as Derek sits on the edge of the bed and pulls off his remaining shoe. He holds it in his hand, staring at it like he’s fascinated, and Stiles can’t stop himself from doing the same to Derek. It’s funny and bizarre to see Derek so uninhibited, but it’s the way his shoulders and face are relaxed, like all the tension and guilt he’s always carrying have eased right out of him, that leaves Stiles almost breathless.

“Shoes are weird,” Derek says, lifting his head to look at Stiles and give him a lopsided smile. Stiles’ heart speeds up at that look, and he can feel a warmth spreading up his neck. It’s just fondness, though, he tells himself.

“Yeah, they are, huh?” Stiles murmurs, rising to his feet and moving back over to Derek. He nudges lightly at his shoulders, until Derek lays down, sliding up to the pillows.

“You’re coming too, right?”

He sounds so hopeful and excited that Stiles’ chest aches with something he can’t quite describe. “Yeah, I’m coming too,” he promises, climbing back into the bed and under the covers. Derek rolls toward him, running his hand over his arm, fascinated, and Stiles figures it’s not worth the effort of explaining why that might be a little weird. He closes his eyes, exhausted enough that he thinks he might be able to sleep through Derek’s exploration of his arm, when his hand goes to Stiles’ swollen stomach instead. He spreads his fingers out along the spot where Stiles’ shirt has ridden up, then pushes it up under the fabric, just resting there.

Stiles considers stopping that too, but the small touch soothes the ache running through him and the baby flutters contently. “Night, Derek,” he says quietly.

“Night,” Derek hums, his nose nuzzling against the back of his neck as he snuggles closer. Stiles sighs, feeling loose and comfortable in Derek’s presence, and he closes his eyes to sleep, a small smile forming on his lips.


End file.
